Dont mess with my pots bitch

I work in the bowels of the hotel trade with a great bunch of people until she arrived, it, the skinny bitch. Some context Skinny Bitch (SB) arrived on a trainee management course. This means she knows everything. The first day of its arrival she sat in the kitchen with her predecessor, ignored us and continued to talk about herself on and on and on…get the picture? She talks to me like I am shite, like I have no intelligence or have any contribution to make other than washing pots. She finds the weirdest things to have a go at me about including her latest project which is to stop us from banging stuff on the edges of the sink to reduce kitchen noise. If she kept her cake hole shut the noise would be significantly reduced. Anyhow, one day she was going on about her wonderful tutor – she was her top student blah blah blah – and her tutor had invited her and a few star pupils round for tea with the tutor’s partner who is a famous chef blah blah, she was a chosen one blah blah. What SB does not yet know is my partner is her tutor, we are in a civil marriage and I will be cooking……

 
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